


Plantain Cave on Jade Cloud Mountain

by Mister_Apology



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Biting, Blood, Cowgirl Position, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, F/F, Face-Sitting, Impregnation, Lap Sex, Massage, Noble Phantasms Don't Work Like That, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Rough Sex, Scratching, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22591192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mister_Apology/pseuds/Mister_Apology
Summary: With the Ox-Demon King finally returned home, Princess Iron Fan holds her husband to her end of a bargain.
Relationships: Florence Nightingale | Berserker/Artoria Pendragon Alter | Lancer
Comments: 8
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in the game's Journey to the West AU. [Please make sure to watch this spoiler free scene from Salem for full context.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZ5ApUICglQ)
> 
> Additionally, please try to picture [Artoria](https://fategrandorder.fandom.com/wiki/File:241.png) and [Nightingale](https://fategrandorder.fandom.com/wiki/File:240.png) in their CE outfits.
> 
> I use their actual names rather than the names of the characters they're portraying, because saying "Ox-Demon King" and "Princess Iron Fan" over and over again would get a bit tedious.

Once Artoria convinces Nightingale to let her stow Llamrei in the stable before they began, she has choice but to allow her wife to lead her by the hand to their bed chamber. Nightingale’s grip is powerful, enough that the armor of Artoria’s gauntlets creaks from the pressure. She hopes that the pressure hasn’t warped it to a point where she won’t be able to take it off. The last time that had happened, Nightingale had simply torn the metal apart with her bare hands to get at her husband, and while Artoria had appreciated her wife’s display of power and determination, the armor had been quite expensive. 

Nightingale is on her as soon as the door to their bedroom closes behind them. One hand goes to Artoria exposed midriff and caresses her enticing abdominal muscles. The other reaches into a pocket of her robe and pulls out a disinfectant wipe. Before Artoria can have time to react, Nightingale quickly wipes it across her husband’s mouth. 

Artoria wrinkles her nose at the sharp smell. “What was that for?”

Nightingale smiles and tosses the used wipe into a waste basket while staring straight into Artoria’s eyes. With her hand now free, she reaches up and wraps her arm around her neck to pull Artoria close. “You know me, my dear,” she whispers, still maintaining eye contact, “I’m not about to put my lips on yours until I’ve made sure they’re clean. Who knows where they might’ve been last?”

Her husband winces, but smiles hopefully. Apart from the admittedly well deserved jab at her fidelity, the night was looks as though it will be improving. Nightingale seldom settles for just a kiss, after all, especially since it has been almost a week since Artoria was last home. She had been unsure of precisely what her wife’s intentions were, but Nightingale has been especially playful. Artoria begins to suspect the coming week would be much more enjoyable than she had initially thought. Of course, the constant simmering tension between Artoria and Nightingale can shift from sultry to frenzied at any moment. It’s part of what Artoria finds being married to her wife so fulfilling. The constant risk of danger is what draws the Ox Demon King to her Princess, what keeps her on her toes, and what makes her fall even deeper in love over and over again. 

Any lingering recalcitrance melts away from Artoria once Nightingale stands on her toes to plant a kiss on her husband’s lips. Artoria grins and pulls her closer. Nightingale wraps her arms around Artoria’s neck as they kiss. It’s simple for the moment, just lips against lips. Nightingale doesn’t stray from Artoria’s mouth, nor does she press for a deeper kiss. Artoria knows she’s being teased, but she does her best to endure it. Their breasts press against each other in a way that is Artoria is long since familiar with, but still excites her. She runs her hands down her wife’s sides and feels the curve of her waist and hips, coming to rest on her backside. Nightingale raises her exposed eyebrow at her husband’s forwardness, but she doesn’t change her pattern, placing small, swift kisses from one side of her mouth to the other. Artoria gives Nightingale’s ass a light squeeze when she can no longer bare the waiting and tries to press her tongue into her mouth. Nightingale’s eye narrows and she bites down sharply on Artoria’s lip.

“Ouch! What was that for?” Artoria gingerly touches her lip as Nightingale firmly pushes her away. She can taste the harsh tang of her own blood, but the wound only just breaks the skin. She had received much deeper before, and for less cause. Her wife really is in a surprisingly good mood. 

Nightingale takes several objects from a drawer on the other side of their room before answering. “You know the rules, my darling,” she purrs as she walks back to her husband and presses a tissue to her lip. “Here, hold this there and apply pressure until the bleeding stops. After that, use this.” She places a bottle in Artoria’s open hand and closes her fingers around it. 

Artoria looks down and inwardly groans. Peroxide mouthwash, as usual. Nightingale has frequently reminded her of the amount of bacteria to be found in a human mouth, but it’s still frustrating to have to go through so many steps just to make out with her wife. She trudges over to the sink they keep in their room and thoroughly gargles the solution before spitting it out. Artoria is just about to pour herself a glass of water to rinse the taste and foam out of her mouth when she feels a sudden soft pressure against the back of her cloak. 

Nightingale hugs her from behind and rests her cheek to the back of Artoria’s shoulders. One of her hands returns to caress Artoria’s exposed abs once again and she shifts her body to press her breasts more fully against Artoria’s back, something Nightingale knows always excites her husband. 

“Thank you for acquiescing to my whims,” Nightingale whispers as she nuzzles against Artoria.

Artoria takes a moment to swirl the water in her mouth and spit it out before answering. She was beginning to see the merit in allowing things to progress slowly. “Of course,” she says at last. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t obey such a simple request from my wife?”

Nightingale reaches up to grab one of Artoria’s horns and yanks her down and around. Artoria’s exclamation of surprise is muffled and becomes a satisfied moan of content as Nightingale presses their lips together again. This time, she allows Artoria’s tongue into her mouth and their kissing becomes deeper and more heated than before. Nightingale keeps one hand on Artoria’s horn and the other reaches up to fondle at her husband’s breasts. Artoria shivers at the attention her wife is lavishing upon her and takes it as an invitation to be more handsy herself. Supporting Nightingale’s buttocks with both hands, Artoria hoists her off the ground so she can wrap her legs around her waist. Artoria strides over to their bed while she carries her and carefully lays Nightingale down, taking care not to break their kiss. 

Artoria’s hands caress Nightingales exposed legs and she runs them underneath her robe. Nightingale’s skin is soft and pleasantly warm, so much so that Artoria pulls her mouth away in frustration when Nightingale grips her wrists and stops her from going further. Nightingale’s hold on her is hard, and as tight as a vice. Artoria will likely have bruises by the next morning, a reminder that it’s her wife who sets the pace. The upward tug at the side of Nightingale’s mouth is so smug and self-satisfied that Artoria would be annoyed if it didn’t make her so helplessly turned on.

“Florence,” Artoria growls, “I want you.”

“I know. Your determination to pursue your desires is one of your charms.” Nightingale smiles again, and Artoria’s breathing becomes heavier. “However, you must be patient for a while longer.”

Artoria groans as she contemplates what task her wife has for her next, but becomes hopeful once again once she notices Nightingale is gently rubbing the inside of her wrists with her thumbs. She sits up and allows Nightingale to do the same. They pause a moment to simply sit beside one another and enjoy each other’s presence. Nightingale rests her cheek against Artoria’s shoulder and her husband squeezes her hand. 

“Now,” Nightingale instructs as she stands, “stand up and strip naked.”

Artoria grins. “Yes, Ma’am.” Whatever Nightingale needs from her might be more to her own liking than she had first guessed. 

Artoria and Nightingale rise off the bed together and Artoria slips her cloak off her shoulders. Nightingale takes it from her, folding and neatly hanging it over her arm. Artoria takes off the pieces of her armor one by one. She is achingly aware of how her wife stares at her as she becomes increasingly more naked. Nightingale watches with an increasingly satisfied smirk as Artoria sets her last piece of armor on a shelf and stands proudly naked before her. 

“I truly am a fortunate woman,” Nightingale says as she looks her husband up and down. “You’re as lovely as you are handsome.”

Artoria playfully places a hand on her hip in feigned exasperation. “Do you have any other intentions for me, or are you only going to enjoy the view.”

“As much as I would enjoy that, I do have other plans for tonight,” Nightingale chuckles. “Get on the bed and lay on your back,” she calls out behind her as she walks away to hang up Artoria’s cloak. 

Artoria does as her wife instructs. She places her hands behind her head as she rests it on one of their pillows. She bends one of her knees and rests her other leg atop it while she rotates her foot in small circles. Artoria grins with her eyes half closed when her wife straddles her hips with a large bottle in hand. The silk of Nightingale’s robe is pleasantly soft against her bare skin.

“I like where this is going.”

“Don’t be so smug, my husband,” Nightingale admonishes as she gently tweaks her nose. “Remember, this is all because you wandered off who knows where and might be contaminated with any kind of germ or bacteria. You agreed to let me disinfect you over the course of the coming week, remember?”

Artoria winces. She had almost managed to forget about that particular point of contention, but the mercurial nature of her wife’s affection brings it back. “It’s as you say,” she sighs. “How do you intend to proceed?”

“To start with, I’ll be giving you a massage,” Nightingale says as she pours some of the contents of the bottle out onto her hands. 

Artoria winces again. While her wife’s massages always did manage to work out any stress or knots in her muscles, Nightingale’s enthusiasm typically led them to be less than soothing. Artoria speculates that part of the reason she feels so good after them is the relief that the ordeal is finally over.

“Wait,” she asks as she furrows her brow, “aren’t massages normally given to person’s back?”

“Later,” Nightingale promises somewhat ominously, and silences any further questions with a quick kiss. 

Nightingale is nothing if not rigorous, and her massage is no exception. Given she was on her back, Artoria had hoped for at least a little breast play, but Nightingale is all business, as she always is when it comes to matters of health. All the minor aches and pains Artoria occasionally feels are soon overwhelmed by the major aches and pains that are an inevitable result of her wife’s undivided attention. However, something has been nagging at her.

“Say,” Artoria manages to ask in between her stream of grunts and winces, “does this massage oil have disinfectant in it?”

“This disinfectant has massage oil in it, if that’s what you mean,” Nightingale responds without pausing massaging Artoria’s left wrist. “Really, I would expect you to know that by now.”

Artoria doesn’t allow herself to sigh, instead thanking the heavens that the smell of their home was now much more bearable. It had taken some work and quite a lot of pleading, but convincing Nightingale to begin using sanitizers and disinfectants scented with fruits and flowers had been one of the best decisions of Artoria’s life. 

Nightingale finishes with her husband’s upper body and scoots down to the foot of their bed to massage her legs. She is meticulous and works her hands over every inch Artoria’s thighs and calves. Nightingale finishes with her feet, lifting up one then the other as her she presses their soles with her thumbs. Artoria lets out a sigh of relief once it’s over. 

“Now,” Nightingale directs, her tone completely businesslike, “roll over so I can get your back.”

Artoria groans but she does as her wife asks. She must admit to herself, however, that as painful as Nightingale’s massages can be in the moment, she can already feel the tension in most of her body fade away. Nightingale only has her back to do next, and she contents herself with the knowledge that she’ll be able to make love to her soon. Artoria sighs to herself as she folds her arms on her pillow and rests her chin on them. 

“Very good,” Nightingale suddenly whispers into her ear, sending shivers down Artoria’s spine. “Stay like that, and don’t turn around or look back until I tell you.”

Nightingale is much gentler with Artoria as she massages her back. She runs her hands down from Artoria’s shoulders to her tailbone and feels out her husband’s well defined muscles. She carefully rubs the mixture of disinfectant and oil onto every inch of the pale skin of Artoria’s back. Nightingale places both of her palms against her husband and caresses her as Artoria sighs and closes her eyes in satisfaction.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my husband?” Nightingale asks in a breathy sigh beside Artoria’s ear.

“Yes,” Artoria freely admits. 

She does her best to fight off the urge to turn around and kiss her wife. She had been instructed not turn without permission, whether as a form of punishment or part of her wife’s incessant teasing. Either way, she knows obeying is always worth the reward.

“Very good,” Nightingale compliments. She quickly takes the lobe of Artoria’s ear between her teeth and nips gently. Artoria gasps at the feel of her teeth, but remains still. “ _Very_ good,” Nightingale purrs. “Almost done. Just a bit longer.”

Artoria holds her breath as all of her attention immediately snaps to what her wife is doing behind her as Nightingale pulls back. She hears the faint rustle of silk against silk, and silk against skin. Artoria feels the slight weight of clothes dropping atop her naked body as Nightingale removes her robe and undresses. There is more rustling and then a weight lifted off their bed. The soft patter of feet against the room’s rug, the opening and closing of drawers, and Nightingale’s returning footsteps and weight atop her once more tells Artoria that her wife must have placed her clothes in her wardrobe. 

Nightingale places her knees on either side of her husband’s hips, leans over her back, and returns to the massage, but Artoria is no longer able to focus on it. She is desperately, painfully aware that Florence, her wife, the woman she loves most in the entire world is completely, gloriously naked right behind and atop her. But Artoria mustn’t look back or move. No matter how much she wants to see her, no matter how much she wants to embrace her, no matter how much she wants to kiss her, no matter how much she wants to fuck her so hard that the bed breaks beneath them, Artoria must stay still. It’s what her wife wants. 

“There,” Nightingale whispers as she slides off Artoria’s hips, “one last place.” Artoria shudders when Nightingale delicately reaches one hand between her husband’s thighs. “Spread your legs.” Artoria follows the direction immediately and Nightingale shifts her position to kneel by between them. “Well, well,” she teases as she runs a finger up Artoria’s slit, “it seems like you’re wet already.”

“Yes,” Artoria gasps. 

“And why is that?” Artoria can _hear_ the smirk in Nightingale’s voice as her wife slides her finger down to brush against her clit.

“Because you’re my wife,” Artoria exhales as a second of Nightingale’s fingers joins the first and she begins to gently rub circle’s around Artoria’s bud. “You’re my wife, and you know my body better than anybody else.”

“That’s right.” Nightingale makes a wholly self-satisfied purr as Artoria buries her face into her pillow. “Now raise your hips.”

Artoria obeys her without thinking. All of her attention is focused entirely on how her wife touches her. Nightingale squeezes one of Artoria’s cheeks, digging her nails just slightly into the pale, smooth skin, as she slides two of the fingers of her other hand into her husband’s pussy. Artoria moans into her pillow as she squeezes around Nightingale’s touch.

Nightingale sits up and, without withdrawing her fingers from Artoria, lays atop her husband. Now that they are completely naked, there is nothing between Nightingale’s breasts and Artoria’s back. Artoria fights to prevent a sigh from escaping as she feels her wife’s stiff nipples press into her bare skin. Her attempts ultimately fail when Nightingale begins to pull her fingers out before sliding them back into Artoria’s pussy, a task that has become easy with how wet she has become. Artoria’s breathing becomes ragged as her wife’s fingers begin to fuck her faster and faster. As Artoria’s own nipples begin to stiffen she realizes this is another part of how her wife intends to tease her. As she lies on her stomach with her arms around her pillow at her head, Artoria’s breasts are unable to be given any attention. She has no doubt her intensifying desire for relief is exactly what Nightingale had planned for her.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Nightingale pants. She has to raise her voice to be heard over the wet sounds of Artoria’s pussy and her husband’s muffled moans into her pillow. She grips a horn with her free hand and turns Artoria’s head towards her. “Do you feel good?” 

Artoria doesn’t have the breath to answer properly. Instead she rigorously nods her head and clutches her pillow tighter to her mouth to stifle her whimpers. Nightingale’s long, elegant fingers are always able to quickly make her helpless, and Artoria can’t stop herself from thrusting her hips back against them.

“Good. I’m glad.” 

Nightingale’s lips pull back into a wide grin, exposing her white and rigorously cleaned teeth. With careful deliberation, she bites down on Artoria’s right shoulder at the same moment she curls her fingers in Artoria’s pussy. Her husband comes instantly and with such intensity that even pressing her face entirely against the pillow is only just able to muffle her scream. Nightingale bites down harder, but not so hard as to draw blood. Just enough to leave a mark. 

Nightingale keeps her fingers inside of Artoria as she shudders from her orgasm. She slowly lifts her mouth off of her husband only to bite down again a few inches lower on Artoria’s back. Artoria yelps in surprise, having lifted up her face again and not suspecting her wife had more in store for her. Nightingale leaves a trail of bites down Artoria’s back, none so hard as the first, but still enough to make her husband whimper. She savors the feeling when she eventually reaches Artoria’s ass, taking her time to appreciate the firmness of her husband’s flesh between her teeth. 

“You’ve been very patient,” Nightingale praises as she finally withdraws her fingers from Artoria’s slit. “You may turn over now.”

Artoria weakly rolls over and at long last gazes upon Nightingale’s naked body. She is so breathtakingly lovely, with her satisfied smile, her hair just beginning to come loose of its braid, and her skin faintly glowing with hard earned perspiration that Artoria isn’t left breathless and unable to speak for a moment. Nightingale’s smirk becomes even more self-satisfied as she watches her husband look upon her. 

“Florence,” Artoria finally begs, unable to think of anything more eloquent, “kiss?”

Nightingale lays atop Artoria again and relishes how their breasts press up against each other. “Clean these first,” she instructs as she proffers her still slick fingers to her husband.

Artoria obediently takes them into her mouth and gently sucks them. She makes eye contact with Nightingale for a moment before closing her eyes to savor the taste of her own come on her wife’s fingers. She wraps her tongue around each one and licks to ensure they are completely cleaned off. Artoria lazily opens one eye when Nightingale grips one of her horns with her free hand. She’s pleased to see her usual smug smile has been wiped clean. Nightingale’s eyes are half closed and her lips are slightly parted as she breathes slowly, an expression of desire that mirrors Artoria’s own. 

“That’s enough,” Nightingale says at last as she sharply pulls her fingers from Artoria’s lips. Her mouth is pressed against Artoria’s own before her husband has a chance to speak. 

They moan and melt into one another as their kiss deepens and intensifies. Artoria caresses her wife’s back and feels the firmness of her muscles. Nightingale grips both of her husband’s horns and pulls her closer to her before she slips her knee between Artoria’s legs. Artoria shudders as she feels Nightingale’s leg press against her still sensitive core. 

Nightingale breaks their kiss as she begins running her hand up and down Artoria’s right horn. “You seem to be enjoying your disinfection. Has your treatment so far left you with any concerns?”

“None whatsoever,” Artoria responds, playing along as she nuzzles against her wife’s cheek. “But I would like to show my appreciation for my ongoing treatment. Is there any way that might be accomplished?”

“I did say that this would be your dinner, didn’t I?” Nightingale muses aloud as she sits up. Artoria shifts her weight to do so as well, but Nightingale gently presses her back down against the mattress. She languidly crawls higher up the bed and kneels above Artoria’s face with her knees on either side of her head. Nightingale slowly runs a hand up her body and smirks at how her husband’s attention is riveted upon her. “You must be starving.”

Artoria gulps as her eyes grow heated with desire for her wife. Carefully, she repositions a pillow beneath her head to bring her face closer to Nightingale’s womanhood. “Famished. May I?”

“You may,” Nightingale whispers as she reaches down and fondly stroke Artoria’s cheek.

Artoria’s mouth is upon Nightingale almost instantly. Despite having no attention paid to her own body yet, she is slick arousal. Long heavy strokes of Artoria’s tongue lap at her wife’s folds and her hands caress up Nightingale’s legs to rest snugly upon her hips. She is no less ravenous in bed with her mouth between her wife’s legs than she is at the dinner table. Nightingale lets out a slow, contented sigh and she grasps each of Artoria’s horns to pull her closer as she rides her face.

Nightingale begins to rock her hips back and forth once Artoria’s tongue finds it’s way into her pussy. Artoria can’t help but rub her own thighs against each other as she relishes in the Nightingale’s scent. She presses her mouth further onto her wife’s sex and intensifies her licking. She isn’t able to tease Nightingale and draw an orgasm out the way her wife can do to her. Artoria can’t help but allow her own eagerness to get the best of her. She is ruled entirely by the desire to eat out her wife, and she’s unable to hold back even if she wants to.

Nightingale bites her lip and does her best to suppress a whine of pleasure. Her grip tightens on her husband’s horns so much that her knuckles turn white. Artoria’s horns have always been able to hold up against Nightingale’s strength and have never faltered, which makes them her favorite part of her husband to hold onto while they make love. Nightingale can’t help but love how excited for her the other woman gets, not when she’s so sensitive she can feel the small puffs of air as Artoria breaths through her nose, not when Artoria is able to reach all of her favorite places with her tongue, not when Artoria reaches up to grope her breasts, and especially not when Artoria’s eyes make contact with her own and their gazes lock with one another. 

“ _Artoriaaaa~!_ ”

As Nightingale comes she grinds down hard against her husband’s face. Without having to be told, the other woman eagerly licks her clean. Artoria slides her hands down from Nightingale’s breasts back to her hips to support her as she recovers from her orgasm. She presses her cheek against her wife’s thigh and rubs it gently while she waits for the heavy breathing above her to come to a halt. 

Nightingale lowers herself and lays atop her husband, nuzzling against and gently nipping at her neck. Artoria wraps her wife in a gentle embrace. Once Nightingale is ready she brings her face to Artoria’s to lick and kiss her come off of her. 

“Thank you for the meal,” Artoria sighs contently. “Do you want to keep going?”

“In a little bit.” Having cleaned Artoria off, Nightingale wriggles lower and lays her head atop her husband’s chest. “I want to stay like this for a while.”

Closing their eyes, the two women quietly take comfort in how near they are to one another. Artoria takes in the pleasant scent of Nightingale’s hair and slowly runs her fingers through it. Nightingale listens to the reassuring rhythm of Artoria’s heartbeat. No matter how many times they lie together like this after making love, it never stops being satisfying.

“Artoria.”

“Hmm?”

“I want to have another baby.”

Artoria opens her eyes in surprise. Nightingale stares straight into them unblinkingly. Her exposed eye is lovely that Artoria is somewhat thankful that she wears a bandage over the other, as she might become lost in them otherwise. Nightingale purses her lips in irritation and nips sharply at Artoria’s shoulder.

Artoria winces. “You’re sure about this. You want to have another baby.” 

It wasn’t a question. Artoria knows that her wife would consider the matter thoroughly before discussing it with her. Even though she has always been in excellent health, including when she was pregnant with Mordred, Nightingale is well aware of the potential health risks of pregnancy, as well as the heavy responsibility of raising a child.

“If it’s because I strayed,” Artoria says as she considers a worrying possibility, “then you don’t need to-“

“It’s not that,” Nightingale cuts her off. “I’m not worried about that.” Her tone takes on it’s familiar smugness. “You’re mine. We both know that.”

Artoria sighs in relief. “So, then why?”

Nightingale rolls off of Artoria and onto her back. Artoria lifts her arm and her wife obligingly snuggles up against her. “It’s been a while since Mordred, and I fell like I’m ready again. She’ll probably like having a little brother or sister, too.”

Artoria considers for only a moment before kissing the top of Nightingale’s head. “Okay. It will be an honor, a privilege, and a joy to have another child with you, Florence.”

Nightingale gives Artoria a quick kiss on the lips and sits up to straddle her thighs.

“Am I going to be on my back all night?” Artoria chuckles.

Nightingale reaches out an arm and runs her hand down her husband’s abdomen. “Perform well, and we’ll see. Now, bring out Rhongomyniad.”

While typically taking the form of a powerful lance, Artoria is capable of calling upon an alternate form of Rhongomyniad. Artoria inhales, exhales, and concentrates on the shape she desires. The bedroom darkens slightly, as though shadows were coalescing above her hips. The air pulses and blurs as Rhongomyniad materializes. Impressively long and with matching girth, the lance takes the form of a black shaft, not unlike a strapless dildo fit snugly between Artoria’s hips. It is twisted and covered small bumps in the place of its usual spikes and faint lines along its length, both a dull red, like the blood of a dying sun. Rhongomyniad is already slick with a coating of viscous liquid and it faintly thrums in anticipation. 

While the lance has no mind of its own, any artifact of comparable power cannot but reflect some of the unconscious thoughts of its wielder. Artoria feels an almost imperceptible tug at her hips toward her wife as Rhongomyniad resonates with her desires. Perhaps it somehow perceives that tonight it will be permitted to carry out this form’s ultimate function once again. Ironically enough, it is in this shape, rather than as a lance, that Rhongomyniad is closest to its true purpose. Rather than the “Pillar of Light” that sews together the two sides of the world, the shaft of Rhongomyniad connects two women, and it can allow Artoria’s yang infused qi to flow from her, through it, and into Nightingale, where it coalesces with her own yin infused qi.

“It’s been a few weeks since you last used Rhon like this with me,” Nightingale considers as she pulls her hand down her husband’s abdomen and up the lance, caressing it with the tips of her fingers. Artoria shudders as she gently squeezes the head with her thumb and index finger. “Who knows where it might’ve gotten, or who else it might’ve been used on? Perhaps I’ll have to disinfect it, too?”

Artoria shakes as the feeling of Nightingales hands on Rhongomyniad course through her, feeling it as intensely as though it were an extension of her own body. “Y-you do- don’t have to,” she manages to stammer. “Rhon’s clean.”

“Oh?” Nightingale teases. She takes considerable pleasure from watching her husband try not to squirm as she strokes up and down the shaft. “I’m sure there are plenty of lovely young ladies who would give anything to feel the holy lance? Has Rhon really never been used on them?”

“Only you,” Artoria gasps. Her wife has her on her back, completely exposed and helpless, and is taking her sweet time toying with her. Artoria wouldn’t have her any other way. “Only ever you.”

“That’s what I thought,” Nightingale gloats as she lifts herself up above the lance. Artoria is gratified to see by how wet Nightingale is and how slick her thighs are that the other woman is just as aroused as she is. “You’re _mine_ , Artoria. _My_ , husband. Rhon knows it, and that’s why I’m the only one who can satisfy the two of you. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes! Yes, you’re right!” Artoria pleads. “I love you, Florence! I love you so _fucking_ , much! Please, just don’t make me wait any longer!”

Nightingale smiles beatifically. She takes Artoria’s hands in her own and brings them to her lips. “I love you too,” she purrs as she kisses each one.

Artoria has to fight to keep herself from coming instantly as her wife lowers herself halfway onto Rhongomyniad. Artoria is determined to keep going for as long as Nightingale wants her to; releasing all her pent up tension now would feel too much like a defeat. Besides, she knows if she came that fast, Nightingale would be teasing her for at least a week. 

Nightingale sighs contently as her body squeezes around the lance’s shaft. Even though it’s only halfway in, she already feels pleasantly full and stretched. Rhongomyniad is wonderfully warm. Beads of sweat begin to form on her already perspiring body and she basks in the heat that radiates throughout her body. Nightingale twists her hips gently from side to side to fully take in the bumps and ridges across the lance’s surface. 

Artoria shudders beneath her, biting her lower lip and griping the bed sheets. Each of her wife’s movements sends jolts of pleasure up her body. Stars dance across Artoria’s vision and her breath hitches. She feels the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, but fights it off and keeps them open. Nightingale working up a sweat as she lets Rhongomyniad fill her remains one of the most erotic things Artoria has ever seen, and she refuses to give up the chance to watch.

“Is this too much of you already, darling?” Nightingale coos as she watches Artoria’s struggle. “You can go ahead and come now, if you really must.”

“No,” Artoria grunts, her face starting to turn slightly red. “I can go longer. As long as you can.” 

“You really don’t like giving up, do you?” she teases. “Well, I can’t deny that it’s something I find charming about you.”

Nightingale wiggles herself lower onto her husband’s lance. Artoria’s breathing becomes ragged and she covers her mouth with a hand to stifle any gasps. Nightingale begins to pant heavily herself, but still manages a chuckle at her husband’s expense. As she finally allows gravity to pull her wholly onto Rhongomyniad the lance begins to thrum gently within her. 

“Rhon seems happy to finally be where it belongs again.” Even panting and glowing with perspiration, Nightingale manages to smirk and keep her voice smug. 

With some effort, Artoria swallows and moves her hand away from her mouth. “Guess so,” she manages to gasp, humoring her wife. They both know that any reaction of the lance from being entirely inside Nightingale was simply a reflection of Artoria’s own primal instincts. 

Nightingale starts rocking her hips, each movement forward and back accompanied by a quick twist of her waist. The motions immediately add fuel to the fires burning within the two women. Each of Nightingale’s gyrations is accompanied by a pulse of heat and vibration from Rhongomyniad. Setting her own pace, she soon works up a steady rhythm and the luxurious waves of stimulation coursing through Nightingale as she rides Artoria’s lance quickly get to her head. She slowly traces the curves of her body, her hands make their way up her thighs, hips, waist, and stomach. Nightingale grins wolfishly when she fondles her breasts, looking down on Artoria as her husband gasps. She reaches up and finally undoes her braid, allowing her hair to cascade down her back, soon clinging to the sweat across he body.

“I like putting on a show for you, but I can’t do all the work,” Nightingale hisses as she cups her breasts, never once stopping the rocking of her hips. “Hurry up and fuck me, Artoria.”

Artoria can’t find the words to respond. The sight of her wife in all her sensual magnificence and the feel of her around the lance leaves her almost incapable of any coherent thought. Artoria obeys her wife unthinkingly, thrusting upwards into Nightingale, again, and again, and again. Nightingale manages to hold her position atop her husband, but her vision blurs each time Artoria penetrates deeper into her. Artoria places her hands on Nightingale’s thighs, tenderly caressing the smooth skin beneath her palms. 

Neither Nightingale nor Artoria can manage any words. No teasing or retort. The only sounds are their heavy panting, the clap of perspiring bodies against one another, and the desperate creaking of the bed beneath them. The tempo Nightingale had established is completely lost, completely forgotten in favor of wild abandon. There is no skill, no artistry. Both women focus solely on each other, fucking and being fucked. The pressure between them builds, hotter and hotter, higher and higher, no release, and no outlet but to go faster, harder.

Artoria can’t fathom how much time passes, but when her vision swims back into focus they haven’t stopped. To her surprise, she’s managed to hold off from coming since her wife first mounted her, what feels like eons ago. 

But it can’t last. There has to be a release, or else it feels like she’ll explode.

“Florence,” Artoria whines between gasps for air, “I can’t last much longer.”

“Go for it, honey,” Nightingale moans, each word becoming faster and more urgent. “Let it all out! Come inside me! Make me pregnant!”

Artoria raises her hands from Nightingale’s thighs to grasp her hips.

“ _RHONGO-_ ”

Simultaneously, she yanks her wife down hard onto the lance and bucks her hips up.

“ ** _-MYNIAD!_** ”

Both women arch their backs and scream as they climax together. Rhongomyniad releases everything that it had been holding back, converting Artoria’s qi into a warm, viscous fluid. Nightingale shudders as it surges into her body. She sighs in content as Artoria finishes coming in her, leaving her feeling hot and gloriously full as the orgasm continues to reverberate through her.

Artoria never stops thrusting, her qi dripping down out of Nightingale and making her strokes even easier. Before her wife is even done coming herself, Artoria quickly sits up. She pulls Nightingale into her lap even more snuggly until their bodies are pressed completely against one another. Her mouth immediately finds her wife’s and Nightingale allows Artoria to slip her tongue inside. Nightingale wraps her legs around Artoria’s waist as her husband keeps fucking her with desperate need. Artoria’s hands stay firmly on her wife’s hips, pulling her closer in unison with the rocking of her own hips. Even when their kiss finally breaks and they pull their faces away for breath, red and covered in sweat, Artoria doesn’t stop. She stares straight into her wife’s eyes. 

“Fuck, Florence,” Artoria whines, tears starting to pour down her cheeks, “you’re so good! You feel so fucking _good_!”

For once, Nightingale is at a loss for words. However good she feels to Artoria, she doesn’t think it can compare to how good her husband feels to her. Every thrust of the lance sends lightning coursing through her and makes her vision lose focus. Everything she’d been winding Artoria up to over the course of the evening has finally led them here. But they’re not quite at the peak. Just one more push.

Nightingale wraps her arms around Artoria’s back and presses the tips of her fingers to her shoulder blades. At same time, she nuzzles into Artoria’s shoulder. Clenching her eyes shut, in a flash she bites down and digs her nails into her husband’s pale skin. The bite will bruise and Artoria’s back will sting, but she doesn’t draw blood. Artoria yelps, but doesn’t slow down for even an instant. The pain only goads her on, forcing her to rail Nightingale even harder and faster than before. Her breathing quickly becomes ragged and uneven.

“Florence,” she finally whimpers, her mouth less than an inch from her wife’s ear.

Nightingale turns her head slightly and cracks an eye open to see Artoria’s expression.

“ _Harder_.”

Nightingale sinks her teeth into Artoria’s shoulder and rakes her nails down her back. She quickly tastes the iron tang of blood in her mouth and feels its warmth drip down onto her fingers. Artoria comes instantly, pumping another load of her qi into her wife’s pussy. She screams Nightingale’s name, turning her face away from her wife’s ear to keep from hurting her. Nightingale comes orgasms along with Artoria once again, a duet they have practiced often, and bites down even deeper. 

Slowly, Artoria sinks down on top of Nightingale, the bucking of her hips coming to a gradual stop. She pants heavily, desperate for air. Nightingale happily allows her husband to lay atop her. She coos gentle praises to her, peppering her words with quick kisses and gentle nips to her ear. Once Artoria settles down, they kiss again, much, much gentler this time.

As they separate, Nightingale lifts a hand and brushes stray hair out of the other woman’s face. “I love you, Artoria, my dearest husband.”

Artoria closes her eyes and nuzzles into Nightingale’s touch. “And I, you, Florence, my beloved wife.”

They rest their foreheads against each other and match their breathing, slowly, in and out, until they are both at ease again. Nightingale raises her hands to gently grip Artoria’s horns. 

“You know,” Artoria says, slowly turning her head side to side to gently rub her forehead against Nightingale’s, “jokes about you being my meal aside, I am getting pretty hungry.”

“You can help me make dinner,” Nightingale answers, smirking happily, “then we’ll take a bath. I’ll have to clean up your wounds first, though. After that, we’re back to bed. I said this disinfection would take a week, and it hasn’t even been one night. Just because you came in me twice doesn’t guarantee I’m pregnant yet.”

“May I have you in the bath?”

“Of course.”

“Deal.” Artoria grins and sits up, keeping Nightingale firmly in her lap.

Nightingale raises an eyebrow. “I can’t help but notice you still haven’t put Rhon away.”

“How about I carry you to the kitchen like this?” Artoria jokes, playfully rolling her hips.

“Sounds perfect,” Nightingale chuckles.

~~~

Mordred lays on her back in the shade of a peach tree within one of the many orchards that fill the Heavenly Realm. She rests with both hands folded beneath her head and one leg bent so that she can rest her other calf upon her knee. She wiggles her foot in the air idly as she glares at the sky. It’s another perfect, beautiful day. Just like every other day.

“If I don’t find a way out of her soon, I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind.”

She contemplates another escape attempt, but once again runs into the fact that every bid for freedom she’s made so far has ended in abject failure. Growling in frustration, she angrily scratches her head and rolls over and over in the cool grass. Mordred abruptly comes to a halt when she bumps into the slippered feet of a tall, beautiful woman.

“I thought I’d find you here. Slacking off from your studies again, I see. You’re not thinking of escaping back to Earth again, are you?”

“Lady Guanyin!” Mordred rockets to her feet and bows frantically. “N-no! I’m perfectly happy here and I don’t intend to leave until I become an excellent douji! And I wasn’t slacking, I was just... meditating.”

“I see,” the corner of the bodhisattva’s mouth quirks up slightly. She draws out a scroll from the sleeve of her robe. “If you are so intent on your studies, then I suppose I shouldn’t disturb you. You’re parents wrote you a letter, but I’ll hold onto it for you until you’re done.”

“From Father and Mom? Gimme! ” Mordred snatched the letter from Guanyin’s hand and quickly opened it while she stifled a chuckle at her student’s eagerness. “There were a bunch of earthquakes near Jade Cloud Mountain for about a whole week around half a month ago. I hope they’re okay.”

_Dearest Mordred,_

_How are you? I hope you are doing well and not neglecting your health during your training. Your determination to become a proper douji is admirable, but it must never take precedence over cleanliness, sanitation, and your own wellbeing. I expect Lady Guanyin already knows this, but make sure to remind her that a healthy mind requires a healthy body, should the need arise. Your father and I were delighted to receive your last letter, and we are both doing well. She came back from a trip a day after your letter arrived, and she’ll be staying here with me for quite some time to take care of me._

_Love, your Mom and Father_

_P.S._

_We both hope that you will be able to finish your training in time to be home for the birth of your little brother or sister._

Mordred’s hands shake as she reads and rereads the last sentence over and over again. Tears drip of her cheeks and stain the scroll, causing the ink to run.

“I’m going to be a big brother.”

“Mordred, are you all right?” Guanyin asks, concerned. "You're crying."

“I'm fine!” Mordred hurriedly wipes away her tears with her wrist. “Let’s hurry up and get back to training! I have to become a real douji in less than nine months if I want to back home in time!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nightingale ended up being a lot more dom-y than I had originally planned, but what can you do? Also, I like to imagine that this version of Mordred inherited Nightingale's sort of pink hair color, instead of her normal blond.
> 
> Special thanks to [Ashforge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashforge/profile) for letting me use the excellent Noble Phantasms Don't Work Like That tag that she came up with.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Nightingale is pregnant, it's up to Artoria to look after her wife's every need.

Nightingale wakes up the same way as she had every morning for the last few months since she became pregnant; on the cusp of orgasm with Artoria’s head between her legs. Her pregnancy has led her to sleep in more frequently, and Artoria has responded by getting up earlier, both to see to take care of their home and to ensure Nightingale woke up feeling appreciated. Artoria might’ve been happily eating her wife out for more than an hour with her waking up only now. Nightingale knows that some women experience heightened sexual desire during their second trimester with it falling in their third, but her own sex drive has remained consistently high, even into her third trimester, the same as when she was pregnant with Mordred. The two women are naked, having fallen asleep in each other’s arms after making love the previous night. It’s difficult for Nightingale to see her husband over the swell of her abdomen, so she reaches down sleepily and fumbles to grip one of Artoria’s horns. 

Artoria pauses her licking and gently guides her wife’s hand to her favorite spot. “Good morning, honey.”

Nightingale growls in frustration as she tugs on Artoria’s left horn and pulls her husband closer against her. “Don’t you dare stop.”

Artoria chuckles to herself as she returns to tending to Nightingale’s needs. She earns a contented sigh as her tongue picks up speed, but doesn’t allow her wife to climax immediately. Artoria reaches up with one hand and places it tenderly over Nightingale’s womb, slowly rubbing in small circles. Her wife places her own free hand atop her husband’s as her breath becomes ragged. Artoria licks Nightingales clit quickly before placing her mouth over it and sucking, finally sending her wife over the edge. 

Nightingale’s soft cries fill their bedroom as the dull light of a cloudy morning filters in through the window. The first flakes of an early snow waft on the breeze. It is cold outside, but Artoria and Nightingale are pleasantly warm in their bed together. Artoria pulls herself up the mattress to kiss her wife. The two women kiss slowly as they relish their intimacy. Artoria continues to caress Nightingale’s belly, and Nightingale does the same with Artoria’s horn. 

After more than a minute, Artoria pulls away first. Propping herself up on her elbow, she looks down at her wife. Even when pregnant and coming down from the high of an orgasm, Nightingale is able to return her husband’s gaze with a look of smug satisfaction. Looked at like that, Artoria can’t think of anything to say but the absolute truth.

“I love you, Florence,” she whispers. “I love you so, so much.”

“I know,” she answers, the corner of her mouth tugging up in a small smirk. Artoria pouts and Nightingale chuckles. “And I love you, too.”

“How are you feeling?” Artoria asks as she nuzzles her wife’s cheek. “No morning sickness, right?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine,” Nightingale reassures. “That kind of queasiness is usually only in the first trimester. We’re well past that.”

“Mmm.” Artoria gently tickles her wife’s abdomen with the tips of her fingers. “Only a month or so left.”

Nightingale chuckles and swats Artoria’s hand away. “Stop playing around and help me up.”

Artoria stands up from the bed and carefully helps Nightingale do so as well. “Do you need help getting to the bathroom?”

“I can manage that on my own.” Nightingale pulls on a dressing gown and shuffles into her slippers.

“Do you want me to start making breakfast? Rice, eggs, fruit, anything you want, just ask.” Artoria takes her wife’s hand in her own and places a kiss on the back. “It’s a husband’s duty to take care of her wife when she’s pregnant with their child.”

Nightingale smiles, unable to mask her fondness for the other woman’s gallantry. She reaches down to quickly squeeze Artoria’s ass. “I’m not ready for breakfast yet, but wait in bed for me to come back. I’m not quite finished with you yet.”

“As you wish.” Artoria grins and lays back on their bed, resting on her side so she can watch her wife. 

Nightingale takes a step toward their bathroom before pausing and eyeing Artoria suspiciously. “You remembered to clean yourself up before going down on me, didn’t you?”

Her husband puts on an air of affronted righteousness. “Of course. You’ve made sure to teach me very well.”

The corner of Nightingale’s mouth turns upwards. “Very good. I won’t be long.”

When Nightingale returns she finds Artoria laying on her back with her eyes closed. One of her hands fondles her breasts while they other rests lightly atop her pussy. Her breathing is already heavy, Nightingale realizes her husband must’ve started as soon as she had left.

“My, my, you really are inpatient, aren’t you?” Nightingale smirks as she disrobes and settles back on the bed. 

Artoria sits up and places her hand over her wife’s womb again. “I was just thinking about how beautiful you are when you’re pregnant.” She scoots closer to the other woman so that her wife can lean against her. “Maybe I should knock you up again as soon as she’s born.”

Nightingale scoffs, not un-amused. “We haven’t even had our second child yet and you’re already thinking about having a third? Don’t forget, I’m the one who’s doing all the work here.”

“I’m not forgetting,” Artoria wraps her arms around Nightingale’s shoulders and pulls her in for a quick kiss. “You’ve given me the privilege of having children with the smartest, kindest, most beautiful woman in all of Heaven and Earth. Thank you for everything, Florence.”

Nightingale blushes slightly from her husband’s compliments, but hides it quickly. “Very good. You’d do well to remember that. Besides, it’s not healthy for a woman to have another child right after giving birth. It’s best to wait at least a year in between.”

“That’s good to know,” Artoria said as she pressed her cheek against Nightingale’s tummy, listening for movement. “But there’s still nothing wrong with thinking ahead. I think having a big family might be very nice.”

“Let’s save this conversation for another time,” Nightingale sighs. “There’s still something else I want from you before you make me breakfast.”

Artoria sits up eagerly and kisses Nightingale’s cheek. “I’ll do anything you want me to, give you anything you want me to. Name it, and it’s yours.”

“I want,” Nightingale purrs and kisses her back, “to sit on your lap while you use Rhon on me and hug me from behind, Artoria.”

Her husband’s eyes flare up with desire. “My pleasure, just wait a moment.” Artoria places her favorite pillow upright against their bed’s headboard and leans back comfortably. She stretches out her legs and with a moment of focus summons forth Rhongomyniad. The black lance glistens enticingly with a dark luster. “Florence,” Artoria beckons with her arms wide open, “come here.”

Nightingale scoots over to her husband and stands on her knees over Artoria’s legs, facing away from her. Artoria helps guide her down as she gingerly sits on the lance’s shaft. They both hiss in pleasure as Rhon penetrates her. Nightingale is already achingly wet, and gravity only helps her to slide down its length into Artoria’s lap. She can’t help but feel wonderfully, gloriously full, with both her husband’s lance and their baby comfortably inside of her. The warmth of Artoria’s arms as they wrap around her and the softness her husband’s breasts pressed against her back compliment the feeling nicely.

“Love you, Florence,” Artoria whispers as she kisses her wife’s neck and shoulders. “Love you so much.” She places her left hand over Nightingale’s abdomen and feels its pregnant curve. Artoria’s right hand cups her wife’s left breast, now grown as large as her own. “Do you want me to start?”

“Not yet,” Nightingale says, breathing heavily. “Let’s stay like this for a little while.” 

Nightingale savors everything about the moment; her tightness around Rhongomyniad, the warmth of her husband within and around her, the sounds of their breathing mingling together, the tickling as Artoria continues to kiss at her. At last, she rests her hands over Artoria’s and they both feel the faint warmth of life emanating from her womb.

“Make love to me, Artoria,” Nightingale sighs contentedly, leaning back into her husband’s embrace. “Make love to me and tell me how important I am to you.”

Artoria begins slowly. Her thrusts are gentle, and she’s careful not to be too rough on her wife. Fucking one another with Nightingale pregnant requires them both to much gentler than either of them are accustomed to, but neither woman can deny that making love like this is its own unique form of happiness.

Artoria rolls her wife’s nipple between her fingers. The rhythm of her hips has been slow and steady, but already her vision begins to cloud. Nightingale is so tight around her lance and so warm and soft in her arms that part of her wishes the two of them could stay like this forever. Artoria buries her face in her wife’s hair as tiny drops of tears roll down her cheeks.

“I love you so much, Florence,” she whispers, softly, but still loud enough to be heard over the smack of their bodies against one another. “Every day, I ask myself how I could be so lucky to have you as a wife, and I thank the heavens that you agreed to let me be your husband.” She pauses her thrusts for a moment when Nightingale intertwines the fingers of her right hand with Artoria’s left, and together they stroke Nightingale’s tummy.

“Keep going, darling,” Nightingale instructs. There’s a touch of pleading in her voice, which Artoria finds remarkably cute.

“Marrying you and having children with you has been the greatest joy of my life,” Artoria pants. She doesn’t pick up the speed or force of her thrusts, but each time she pulls out farther and pushes back into Nightingale deeper. “I’m so glad our family is getting bigger.” She begins kissing at her wife’s neck again, hard enough to leave marks. “I want Mordred to return home soon! I want us all to be together when she’s born! Just the thought of the four of us together makes me so happy that I don’t know what to do with myself! I love you all so damn much!”

“Fuck!” Nightingale gasps. “I love you too, Artoria! Kiss me! I need you to kiss me!”

The two women feel themselves being swept away by the tide of the onrushing orgasm. Artoria cranes her neck forward as Nightingale leans back and turns her head to the side. The husband and wife lock lips with one another as they climax together, their moans muffled by each other’s mouths. Artoria’s comes inside Nightingale, her qi surging out through the lance and into the other woman, and filling her with its warmth.

At that exact moment, the door to their bedroom swings open. Mordred stands grinning in the doorway, snowflakes melting in her hair, a bag slung across her back and a basket in one hand.

“Hey Mom, Father! Lady Guanyin gave me a couple months off from training so I could be here when-“ It takes a moment for her brain to register what she’s seeing, but once it does she immediately turns bright red. “ _Oh_.”

“Mordred,” Nightingale says evenly as she breaks away from kissing Artoria, “you’re father and I are both very happy that you’re back, but the two of us are a bit busy at the moment. Be a dear and start cooking some rice for breakfast. Be sure to wash thoroughly first.”

“R-right!” Mordred hastily spins around rushes down the hall. A moment passes before she runs back to slam the door shut behind her. 

“You could’ve at least stopped fucking me while our son was watching, dear,” Nightingale sighs.

“Is it weird that I thought her seeing us was kind of exciting?”

“That is rather strange, Artoria, yes.”

“Oh,” Artoria ponders for a moment. “So does that mean you want me to stop?”

“No, not yet,” Nightingale sighs again. “But do go back to kissing my neck, that felt nice.”

“Okay,” Artoria returns to kissing her wife and nuzzling her while her hands strayed across Nightingale’s body. The rocking of her hips become shallower again, but after a murmur of complaint she resumes her deeper thrusts. “Say,” Artoria muses after several minutes, “I was just wondering if the reason Mordred looks so much like me is because I came inside you so often when you were pregnant with her.”

“She has my hair,” Nightingale says after considering the subject for a moment. "And my voice."

“But she has my everything else,” Artoria refutes. “And you don’t bother blocking my qi when you’re already pregnant, so she probably ended up with a lot of it. If so,” she ponders, “that might be too bad. Having a baby who looks more like you might be nice.”

“If that’s really the case, then maybe I should start blocking it when we have sex from here on out,” Nightingale chuckles. “And next time I won’t let you use Rhon at all.”

Artoria frowns. “I can’t say I’m too fond of that idea.” She rests her chin on her wife’s shoulder and nuzzles her cheek. “I love coming inside you, Florence. Although,” she asks, perking up, “you did just say ‘next time,’ didn’t you?”

“You’re hopeless,” Nightingale snorts as she reaches a hand back to grip one of Artoria’s horns affectionately.

“Hey,” Artoria protests, “that’s not fair. I know you love it when I come inside you, too!” She begins to rock her hips faster, still nowhere near enough to make it rough for her wife, but just enough to make her let out a moan.

“Is that so?” Nightingale asks, thrusting her own hips along the shaft of the lance. “You think I like it when you pump me full of qi, Artoria?”

“I don’t think it, Florence, I _know_ it!” Artoria hisses. She places both hands over her wife’s womb and nibbles at her ear. “I’ve already come inside you once this morning, but that’s not enough for you, is it? I bet you’re _dying_ to have me fill your pussy with my qi!”

“Oh?” Nightingale pants. “Then you had better hurry up and come inside me!”

Once more, they kiss each other as they reach climax together. The ecstasy of their orgasm is matched only by the bliss of their heartfelt intimacy. Artoria holds Nightingale close as they come down from their high, placing kiss after kiss against her warm skin.

“You’re so amazing, Florence,” Artoria sighs. “I love you. With all my heart.”

“I love you too, Artoria.” Nightingale leans back into her husband’s embrace and pats her cheek. “Now let’s go see our son.”

After getting dressed, Artoria and Nightingale join Mordred in the kitchen. Mordred is still flustered, but she’s more than happy when both of her parents give her a hug and a kiss on the forehead to welcome her back home. Artoria sees to sees to preparing breakfast while Nightingale sits at the table. Artoria seldom cooks when Nightingale isn’t pregnant, and while she has gotten better about it, the food she makes is often slightly burnt. Nightingale doesn’t mind, as she has found that being with child makes her enjoy her food more if its burnt. 

“Oh, before I forget,” Mordred says eagerly as she places the basket she was carrying earlier on the table, “Lady Guanyin said I could take some peaches with me from the Heavenly Realm as a present.”

“That’s very kind of her,” Nightingale says as she picks up a peach and inspects it appreciatively. “And she’s let you take time off from your training, as well. You had best thank her when you go back.”

“She did give you permission to take them, didn’t she?” Artoria calls from the kitchen, half joking, half suspicious.

“Yes!” Mordred flushes. “This time,” she mutters.

She and Nightingale chat about her training until Artoria places their food down in front of them, giving her wife a quick kiss before sitting down herself. Mordred takes a few bites before looking at her parents curiously.

“So,” she asks, curiously, “do you know if she’ll be my little brother or my little sister, yet?”

“She’ll let us know when she’s old enough,” Nightingale answers, looking fondly at Mordred.

“You knew you wanted to be our son early,” Artoria reminisces. “Practically as soon as you learned to talk.”

“Um,” she says, shifting nervously in her chair. “Is it... Is it okay if I listen?”

“Of course you may.” Nightingale smiles warmly and scoots her chair away from the table. “Come here, Mordred. Introduce yourself.”

Mordred eagerly gets on her knees and gently lays an ear against her mother’s abdomen, listening for any movement. “I can’t hear a heartbeat,” she says, a bit worried. “Is that okay?”

“It’s fine, dear,” Nightingale reassures. “A baby’s heart starts beating at around the fifth week of a pregnancy, but it’s much to quiet to be heard by ear. But I’m sure she can hear you.”

“Hey there,” Mordred whispers to her younger sibling. “My name’s Mordred. I’m your big brother.” She swallows, her throat suddenly dry. “I’ll have to leave for a bit a while after you’re born, but when I come back, I’m going to be the strongest douji ever, and I’m always going to be there for you.” She looks up nervously. “Was that okay?”

Artoria stands up and walks over to Mordred. Helping both her son and her wife stand, she embraces both of them. “That was perfect, Mordred.” She grins and tears begin to form in her eyes as her family hugs her back. “ _This_ is perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Me, when I wrote my first impregnation/pregnancy fic:** Ha, ha, I'm only doing this as a joke because it got brought up during the first summer event, and it surely isn't indicative of anything about me!  
>  **Me, when I starting coming up with more ideas for impregnation/pregnancy fics:** Oh no. _Oh no_.


End file.
